Dear Brother
by godessofthelonely888
Summary: In which a few moments of importance with Mycroft calling Sherlock brother dear, showing slight glimpses of what they were like during the most important times, childhood, early adult and teen years, as well as the present. Extremely short ficlet, just a bit of a tease, I suppose. Sorry if this isn't that good, I haven't wrote anything for a little while.


_**Dear Brother**_

It had started at a very young age, really. No one could pinpoint one precise moment, it had just happened. It had started between the two when they were younger, then the meaning continued to change throughout the years, with only two people ever knowing it's meaning, although the one pretended to constantly to not know in the later days what was really meant by it.

The first time Mycroft Holmes had ever called Sherlock brother dear or dear brother with a sort of importance behind it was when he was thirteen and Sherlock had only been six. He had been walking home with Sherlock from school when he had asked him a question, and if Mycroft remember correctly, which he always did, then it was about people and the behavior in society. Sherlock didn't understand anyone, and had asked Mycroft why they behaved the way that they did, unlike the Holmes brothers. Mycroft had just looked at him with a slight amusement as well as fondness,

"Well, brother dear, it has to do with their emotions, how they feel. Many of them do not take the time to sit back and think things through as you and I do, and let their feelings get in the way, or it has to do with how unstable they are. They're unable to control urges because they haven't learnt to do so yet, and some of them never will." Mycroft had used the term affectionately, and he used it typically when he was teaching Sherlock both would typically deem important.

Sherlock had frowned a bit, still not really understanding. Yes, he and Mycroft cared for each other and for their family, even if at some times Sherlock hated them because they treated him too much like a child for his own preference, but it never got in his way. Not in learning, or his experiments, or his practice with the violin. Sherlock looked at Mycroft with annoyance as his brother ruffled his hair, and finally the two smiled at each other. Sherlock smirked as he gently hit Mycroft,

"Catch me if you can!" He said, taking off in front of Mycroft, laughing as his older brother began to chase after him.

The second time Mycroft had called Sherlock brother dear and it had importance to it, it was when Sherlock had moved in with him while he was in college himself, Sherlock finishing high school. Mycroft had just caught him in the bathroom with heroin, and he had Sherlock cornered.

"What do you think you're doing, dear brother?" He asked, looking at Sherlock who looked like a deer in the headlights, needle in his arm, though he hadn't injected it yet.

"I was busy, Mycroft. It's rude to not knock." He answered calmly, though his hand was shaking.

"Perhaps, but this is my home, and I do believe that you are doing something I have made a point of saying it is not to be done while you are staying here." Mycroft walked up to him, pulling the syringe out, placing it in the trash can. "Go to the kitchen, I've made a light supper, since neither of us have eaten anything yet. And yes, you have to eat tonight." He said. Sherlock stared defiantly at him, staying exactly where he was.

"That wasn't yours to get rid of."

Mycroft simply glowered at him, "Go, before I have to make a phone call to mummy and tell her you won't be living here anymore, and that it's going back to the old arrangement." Sherlock glared at Mycroft, though saw he wasn't going to change his mind. With a dramatic huff, Sherlock left the bathroom, leaving Mycroft there. Mycroft sighed. What was he going to do?

Sherlock sat at the table with his arms crossed. He hated it whenever Mycroft called him brother dear or dear brother. He used it as if to tell Sherlock that what he was doing was idiotic and as if he should known better. He also hated because it seemed like it's what was used when Mycroft was disappointed with him. Finally Mycroft had come out from the bathroom and sat down, pushing a half sandwich towards Sherlock, "Eat up, you have finals tomorrow. You need to be well rested and to do your best."

Throughout the years the use of brother dear continued on in the same manner, and Mycroft used it every time he had to be stern with his baby brother. Then as present, which happened to be on Baker Street, Mycroft sat in John's chair, staring at Sherlock. They were having a conversation with their eyes alone, before finally the silence was broken. "How are things?" Mycroft casually asked, leaning back, hands on his umbrella which was in his lap.

Sherlock scoffed, "Bored. No interesting cases, experiments need time. Nothing to do." He answered. "Why are you here?" Sherlock question.

Mycroft hummed, "Is it so hard for you, brother dear, to believe that I'm simply curious and would like to ask you in person how you are faring?" Sherlock cringed a bit at the term of endearment, before frowning at him.

"Fine." He answered shortly.

Mycroft sighed, "If you won't talk, very well. I shan't keep you waiting. I have a job to do as we both know. Tell John I said hullo." He said, standing up.

Sherlock gave the tiniest nods, "You can show yourself out, I trust."

Mycroft frowned, "Yes. Good evening, then." Mycroft walked out of the apartment, closing the door. He sighed, walking away. Maybe one of these days they could be more civil again, other than Christmas. Sherlock was his only weakness, and thankfully, very few actually knew that.

Sherlock got off his seat, watching Mycroft's vehicle drive away. He gave a tiny huff, before mockingly, "Brother dear my arse." He said, even though they both knew what it really meant, and in a way always had truly meant, even if neither of them said it. Brother dear meant I love you, in a way, as well as saying that they were glad to be each other's sibling, and so much more. They would never change in relationship to each other, and no one could change that but they themselves. Sherlock hummed, "I'll see you later, brother dear." He murmured, before slipping into his mind palace.


End file.
